


Complex

by cellard00rs



Series: CSAC series [12]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Making Love, Morning Sex, Multi, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: What started off as sleepy morning sex ends up meaning a lot more to Stanley than he anticipated...
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines, Preston Northwest/Ford Pines/Stan Pines, Preston Northwest/Stan Pines
Series: CSAC series [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/442447
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Complex

Okay, so here’s the thing – Stan is a creature of answered whims.

When he has one, he just gives into it. Hungry? Eat. Tired? Sleep. Want to flick Ford’s ear while he’s trying to concentrate on homework? Do it. Stan’s never seen a need to restrain himself. When he wants to do something, he just does it. So when Ford scrambles out of bed at too-fucking-early-in-the-morning-‘o-clock and Stan finds he’s got wood, he thinks – okay, take care of it.

His eyes are bleary but open, mouth grinning lazily as he reaches down and gives himself a playful stroke because, why not? He feels good in his own hand. Hard and full, silk draped over steel. 

But it’s not quite right. It feels nice, but not satisfying. He thinks of reaching out to try and find something to use – lube, lotion, something – but that means getting up and moving more and for some strange reason it’s cold. 

Stan rarely feels cold. He certainly doesn’t feel it with the intensity Ford does. But then, Ford thinks it’s cold when it’s like – eighty degrees and rising, so honestly – does _anyone_ feel cold like Ford does?

But this grey morning _is_ cold and he really doesn’t want to emerge from under the covers. He wonders idly if Ford’ll come back. He really should - after all, he’s the jackass who woke him up. But Stan’s mind slowly starts booting up his memories and he remembers that Sixer has some early meeting for school. Hence why he scrambled out so quickly.

Stan groans and rolls over on to his stomach. He rubs himself against the mattress a little. The desire to fuck something is rather pressing. He honestly can’t recall the last time he woke up so horny. And, what’s worse, he has no idea _why_. He wasn’t having any spectacular wet dream to kick this off or anything. He just _is_.

Aroused, that is, and he rolls his hips again, mumbling nonsensical sounds to himself. Frustration is starting to ride in alongside his eagerness, because there just doesn’t seem to be much of a solution to his current problem past getting up. He eyes the nearby clock balefully and scowls. It’s only eight! He shouldn’t be awake yet – _no one_ should. Okay, yes, he’s gotten up before eight before, but it’s not like he’s _wanted_ to.

He’s only ever done it for work and he doesn’t have to work today. He’s totally off and his plans had been to just lounge around – watch TV, maybe play some video games and poke fun at…

His eyes widen.

Preston.

Preston is here today. Preston mentioned not having any classes, mentioned not having any plans past some paperwork for the properties he owns. Stan promised yesterday to annoy the fuck out of him today. Preston merely glared at him while Ford laughed and there’s Stan’s solution. Now that the three of them have their new, ah…arrangement, he knows Ford wouldn’t mind if…

…and his dick _certainly_ wouldn’t mind.

This encourages Stan enough to rise from his and Ford’s bed. He shivers lightly, considering all he’s wearing is some threadbare boxers. Boxers which currently sport a pretty funny tent towards the front, his erection trying to break free. Stan ignores it, instead quickly padding his way into Preston’s room.

To this day, Stanley will never understand how Preston transformed this space. When Fidds lived here, it’d been humble. Now? Now it looks so out of place with the rest of the apartment. It’s as if a showpiece from Arhaus crept into their midst. It’s decorated with a keen eye for fashionable design and wealth. It looks ritzy as hell – golden gilded furniture pieces, plush throw rugs. He’s surprised the guy didn’t replace the light above with a chandelier or some shit.

And his _bed_.

It’s a ridiculously oversized monstrosity. But to say it isn’t gorgeous would be an outright lie. It’s four poster with a thick, overly plush mattress and mountains of silky, satiny sheets and blankets. And, of course, sheltered to one side is its owner. Preston is clearly asleep, curled on his right side, just the tiniest bit of bared, tanned shoulder peeking out, his dark head of hair buried in a fluffy cloud of pillow.

One corner of Stan’s lips lifts sleepily as he shuts the door behind him and quickly moves over towards the bed. He burrows under all the sheets and blankets until he’s pressed up tight against Preston’s back and Preston, while not opening his eyes, has obviously awoken as he grumbles, “Pines…get out.”

“Nope.”

Preston grunts, which goes to show how tired he must be. Stan will admit some surprise. Normally Preston’s up and at ‘em at this point. In fact, Stan doesn’t think he’s ever been awake before the prince. But today seems to be an exception and he finds himself gleeful with it. Especially considering his still rock hard cock is now bumping up against a thick, firm backside. One clad in no-doubt expensive pajama bottoms.

He knows the exact moment Preston recognizes what’s rubbing up against him, because he lets out a squawk and jerks a little. Stan’s sure he’s planning on sitting up or moving away, so he works fast, big arms wrapping tightly around Preston’s middle, keeping him in place. Preston’s tone is more alert, “Stanley, would you kindly get out of my room and - and stop _poking_ me with…with _that_!”

“With what?” Stan rolls his hips forward, rubbing himself lewdly against Preston, “This?”

A choked breath of air leaves Preston and Stan smiles against the nape of his neck. He waits for further freak outs, but evidently this is going to continue to be a day of surprises, because instead Preston just…leans back. He moves a little into the movement and Stan curses lightly under his breath because, yeah, okay…he can work with this.

This is not normally how he and Preston go about these things.

In fact, it is _never_ how they go about it.

This is lazy, tender…almost loving. The complete opposite of how they normally approach sex together. Normally it’s a very heated affair, bordering on rough – it’s a competition, a few steps from hate sex. This? This is…new. It’s…nice.

And Stan knows he should probably question it, but he doesn’t. No, instead he starts laying little kisses over Preston’s shoulders, his back, his neck, and Preston’s practically melting. Stan can feel him growing liquid in his embrace, slowly unspooling under his administrations. Preston is wound so tight – even tighter than Ford (if that’s possible) but right now? Right now he’s fluid and his hips…they’re rolling backwards.

He’s slowly grinding his ass against Stan’s groin and Stan lets out a heated huff because _yes_. Yes, this is what he wanted. What he needed. His hand wasn’t enough, the mattress wasn’t enough. He needed a warm-blooded body to rock on and one of his hands moves until it can palm Preston’s length through his overly expensive PJ’s.

 _Jackpot_ , Stan thinks at the feel of Preston’s burgeoning arousal. His cock damn near twitches in Stan’s hand and Preston whimpers, sounding as if he’s incredibly put out “Stanley…it’s eight in the morning.”

He says this as if it’s the height of impropriety to be doing this right now, but he also doesn’t stop grinding back. Doesn’t stop Stan from touching him as one of Stan’s hands skims up over his belly, dips beneath his waistband to go underneath and find him hot and waiting. Instead he lets out another choked breath as Stan frees him enough to bring him out, give him a few good pumps.

Stan finds he’s moved on from horny to needful now, as he starts rocking against Preston in earnest, his hands moving with shaky determination as they start stripping away Preston’s bottoms, stripping away his own until their both gloriously naked. Preston’s turns just enough so that their lips can finally meet. It’s a wet kiss - sloppy and uncoordinated, and it makes Stan’s heart pound hard in his ribcage. Earlier he’d thought he felt the need to fuck, but that pales in comparison to this. He needs this – he needs it _now_.

His hands rub inelegantly at Preston’s ass, fingertips trailing along his crack, glancing over the tight ring of muscle that’s his entrance and Preston moans, shaking his head as he moves away just enough that Stan can hear frantic scrambling to one side. He knows just what his prince is looking for, even more so when a metal tube smacks against the top of his head. He snorts. The tube doesn’t hurt when it hits him, but it’s funny that Preston sort of chucked it at him, chucked it because he’s getting just as worked up, just as stimulated.

Stan coats his fingers until their damp before sliding them back to where they initially were. He eases one finger in, followed by another and Preston clutches at the sheets, tiny mewls escaping him as he surges back into the touch. Stan relishes the sounds, the sight, of Preston chasing his pleasure. He realizes he doesn’t appreciate this enough. Normally they’re so hurried with one another that he often forgets how much this all probably means to Preston – how long he’s waited to be this open.

No doubt Ford’s seen it. In fact, Ford was probably the first to really get a sight of this – Preston vulnerable, Preston free. Preston enjoying himself. Stan finds he feels a bit like a bastard all of the sudden. His relationship with Preston has always been an oppositional one – even now that they’re…whatever the fuck they are.

It’s not like Preston hasn’t enjoyed himself with Stanley. He has. But he’s never been like this. Actually, Stanley’s never been like this with him either. What started off as a way to just mess around suddenly feels a lot more meaningful and Stan swallows thickly, ignoring the lump that’s inexplicably formed in his throat as he continues to prep Preston, get him nice and ready.

Preston moves against the intrusion of Stan’s fingers as he works diligently to open him up, digits twisting upwards until they just lightly skim along Preston’s prostate. The motion is teasing, never enough to give any real satisfaction. In fact, the groans coming out of Preston now carry an edge of irritation that makes Stan grin and he can’t help but rumble affectionately, “Havin’ trouble, my prince?”

The sound Preston lets out at this question is better than actual words. It’s so full of angry annoyance. Stan just beams and continues to kiss and lick at Preston’s shoulders before his teeth start nibbling at his neck. Suddenly they sink in, biting, marking flesh.

“ _Ahn_! You – you _animal_! _Don’t_ -!” Preston whines, but he doesn’t try hard to get away, to stop Stanley from latching on and giving him what will no doubt be a very visible hickey. But even this is done with a sort of tenderness. Everything they’ve done so far has been the complete opposite of their routine. And maybe that’s why this all is affecting Stanley so much. He and Preston had a routine. It wasn’t stale or anything but this…this unhurried, soft approach for them…

Stan ignores his thoughts, focuses instead on withdrawing his fingers carefully. He kisses Preston’s cheek and Preston’s face is hot under his lips. His skin is bright pink not only from their exertions but most likely from Stan’s more gentle approach. 

They’re still both on their sides, Stanley spooning Preston from behind as he carefully lifts one of Preston’s legs up higher for better access, curling it around himself as he carefully presses his full length inside.The noise that leaves Preston at this action is beautifully pornographic. Stan has to pause a little, has to wait, because he’s seated fully inside now but that _noise_. 

He almost came from just that. He waits a little, lets them both get comfortable before he starts to thrust in and out, his pace measured and controlled. Preston gasps at each thrust, fingers digging at his pillow, hips canting backwards with each stroke as he hisses, “ _Ohhhh yeeees! Stanley_! Stanley, _please_ …”

Stan doesn’t answer, which is a change in and of itself. Normally he’d goad him on, taunt him, say something antagonizing but this time? This time he just hums and keeps it up, body working with controlled intensity, his mouth happy to continue its trail of kisses all over every available surface.

The room is filled with the sound of sweet sighs, ragged pants, and soft moans. The mattress is barely squeaking; covers and sheets making far more sound as they rustle about. This is passionate, but it’s not sex or fucking it’s…

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Stan whispers because he’s just realized what this is. He’s _making love._ To _Preston_. And for some reason this thought strangles him, squeezes at his balls and he feels closer to orgasm than ever before. Preston gasps take on a harsher tone as Stan picks up the pace because he _has_ to, he has no choice.

The realization of what Stan’s doing with Preston is more than he can handle, but he hates to come first, so he reaches out, finds Preston’s length and grips it warmly, firmly tugging once, twice, making sure to pay close attention to the tip because that always works and sure enough, the other man keens as he comes apart around him.

And Stanley?

He’s only seconds after, his own throat letting out a choked click as he loses himself utterly, bliss washing over him like a warm rain. The two of them float down from the high of their releases slowly, Preston the first to speak, “Mmmm…tha’s…good.”

Preston rarely slurs. Stan feels his heart pinch at it as he licks his lips, “Ah…yeah.”

“Someth’n wrong?”

“No,” Stan whispers, as he tugs him closer, kisses his shoulder again while simultaneously shaking his head a little, “No.”

 _No, nothing’s wrong_ , Stanley thinks, _nothing except the fact that – apparently – our…relationship, has gotten a lot more complex than I thought._

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this looooong ago, but slowly unlocking and posting fics from my old, blocked tumblr. If you want to find me on my NEW tumblr, feel free to visit!: [cellard0ors](https://cellard0ors.tumblr.com/)


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